Crooked
by Old-Wives-Tale
Summary: Shouts, screams, and fired shots filled Layla's ears. It sounded like they were coming from the outside, near the window at the end of the hall."
1. Strangeness

The teenager's feet tapped on the car's rough, dirty floor carefully, but unintentionally in tune with the beat of the radio. Her dad was playing the old thing too loud again. Every riff of the imaginary guitar could be heard by the passing cars, Layla just knew it.

A bird flew high overhead as the junk-filled truck wheezed to a stop at a red stoplight. The bird had a fish eye view of the beautiful town that surrounded the dirty vehicle, and the town itself looked like it was strategizing for battle against the old Chevy. It was an abomination, the out of place vehicle and the sorry folks inside it. It was bringing down the town's image with every chug of its' engine. Apparently, the bird decided it was to be the fired shot that started the battle, because it relieved itself right on the windshield in front of Layla Bridget's face in mid flight.

"Dad!" Layla shouted to be heard above yet another guitar solo,"Are we stopping in this town or are you gonna turn that music down?"

The greasy, sleepy eyed man turned his gaze from the rode to look at his daughter.

"I thought you liked this stuff!" he replied, then proceeded to take one hand off the wheel to adjust his sunglasses and wipe his nose. His eyes still weren't on the highway stretching ahead of him.

This put Layla slightly on edge. She was used to how her dad drove, but she still thought he was nuts.

"Just put your eyes on the road!" she continued to shout.

Mr. Bridget turned the music up, but put his eyes back where they belonged while driving.

When he saw his daughter sigh, he attempted to make her feel a bit better, a rare action coming from him.

"Look, we'll be there in a minute, okay? You can wait 'till then."

Layla knew for sure it wouldn't be for a couple more hours before she got to her new home in Brooklyn. If you could call it a home. She remembered the sloppy apartment her dad had always lived in from her visits when she was little. For seven years he had tried to get her in that apartment, and now he'd finally done it. Layla remembered the trial so well. The sound of a gavel filled her ears as she watched the verdict in her mind, over and over again as the Chevy crossed the busy streets to her new city. Every second that passed, every breath that she took, brought her closer and closer to what she had been taught of as the enemy for over seven years of her life.

"Hey kid, get your stuff and get out," was what woke her from her nightmares.

She sucked in a breath, frustration filling her,"Hey dad, I have a name, you know?"

Her father just shook his head with a mocking smile, a new cigar already between his lips. With a suitcase in each hand, he led the way to his daughter's new life. The black, ancient stairs had holes all over them, reminding Layla of the lunch tables and playground benches in elementary school. These particular steps had some sort of flower design on the top edges, but Layla didn't have much time to examine them. The dampness from nearly every surface clung to her like a koala in a tree as she stood waiting for her dad to find the room key.

She stared at his grubby fingernails while doing so, taking in the years of dirt and wear that his nails had to suffer. She briefly imagined him having a manicure.

"_He'd have to wear gloves at first, just to get in,"_ Layla thought snidely.

Then the images of old ladies screaming as he unveiled them was too much for Layla to hold in, and she had to unleash a brilliant white smile.

"What 'choo smilin' at?" Mr. Bridget grumbled, sounding slightly irritated.

He had just opened the door to reveal Layla's new home, apartment 256. It was a mess, like a natural disaster had erupted on the inside. Layla sighed as she took it all in, almost afraid to step inside for fear of catching a disease. But the sound of her father throwing her suitcases down gave a ring of permanence to the air, and Layla had to hold back all emotions when she realized she had no choice. She was going to live here until the new trial the next year, if the fight was still going on. If her mother hadn't given up once she'd lost.

"_He may have won the battle, but he hasn't won the war,"_ Layla had tried to console her mother.

"_But what if the war is over, and that was the last battle?" _her mother had retorted, crying.

Layla shuddered away the images, working her way through the maze of clothes and junk food that littered the floor to what was to be her new room. She had to cross the living room/kitchen to get to the hall, her room the first door on the right. And there were her suitcases, slightly sticking out in the doorway. Layla turned her head back towards the living room area, and found her dad already plopped down on the couch, watching satellite TV. Another sigh heaved its' way out of Layla's throat as she disappeared into her room.

The room was filled head to toe with dirt, Layla could sense it. Although against her inner hygienist's wishes, she unpacked. It wasn't a very long job, considering she only had two suitcases and the forest green duffel bag she'd been carrying, but it was all she had. The second she was done, her father came into the room.

"What?" was Layla's immediate question.

"Look Layla, I know your mom taught you that I'm the enemy, but I'm not, okay? I just want to have my baby girl again. Now I know you'll settle here just fine, this is a nice town."

Layla interrupted his speech with a snort, which was rewarded with another one of her dad's looks.

"Well, Brooklyn isn't exactly a town," Layla clarified, moving her gaze to her new closet door. She didn't bother to mention how "nice" didn't really describe the city of Brooklyn.

"Now I don't want any of your sass. You're going to like it here, I promise. But you're going to have to give it a chance, alright?" Mr. Bridget's New York accent made Layla almost want to laugh again. But his threatening tone silenced her humorous thoughts.

Layla answered his hypothetical question by returning her gaze to his face, looking him square in the eye.

He nodded, as if she were agreeing with him,"Good."

He turned to leave, but caught himself with his hand in the doorway.

"Oh, by the way, I'm goin' out tonight. Eh, you'll be fine here alone, won't 'cha?"

Layla looked down at the dirty carpet, making pictures with her mind with the multi-colored bristles that made up the floor.

"Is that a-"

"I'm okay dad, I'll be fine."

Her father hesitated, stuttering,"Uh okay then, good."

Layla listened as he made his way through the apartment, collecting his things and making his way to the front door. It creaked open, making unusual sounds, like it was broken at the hinges, but was silent as it shut. She heard the door lock, and could almost imagine the turn of a key. Once she was sure he was downstairs, she called the one person who really needed her right then.

Her long, painted nails clicked the familiar numbers effortlessly on her cheap light purple Razor cell phone. It had plenty of charms and Sharpie doodles all over it, like a technological scrapbook. It held enough memories to make Layla's eyes teary whenever she inspected the thing. Half a ring later, she was talking to her mother and previous guardian for the first sixteen years of her life.

Her mother's voice sounded frantic on the other line, but the concealed kind, like she was hiding her worry.

"Hey sweetie."

Layla smiled, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"Hey mom."

"So um, how's life treatin' you down there?"

"It's horrible mom. Really, it is. You were so much better."

Layla knew this would make her mother feel better, but also break her heart. Her thoughts were confirmed when she heard her mother's voice tremble violently on the other line.

"I'll get you back, I promise. One more year and you'll be back home, don't worry sweetie."

One question was still bugging Layla, and she couldn't help but ask it. She had never gotten a straight answer before, and her inquiring mind just needed to know.

"Mom, why did he win this time? I mean all those other times we got out okay, then all of a sudden he won," Layla didn't mean to, but her voice took a desperate turn,"What's wrong?"

Her mother paused on the other line. Layla traced the scratches on the back of her cell phone, her nerves taking over.

"Honey, the only thing that's wrong is him. He just... he got his hands on a better lawyer, that's all."

"How did he do that? I mean, this place is a dump. At least our house is clean. Mom I swear he's poorer than us," Layla was on the border of disbelief when she said this.

"He is. I don't know how, but he became friends with some rich district attorney, and he agreed to lawyer for him for half price. He ended up costing about the same as one of those cheap attorney's he usually uses."

Layla didn't know what to say to this. It all felt so unfair, she had lived with her mother her entire life! Now all of a sudden, her father rips her out of her family, tearing her mother's heart out and dragging her away to Brooklyn. Layla carefully placed her cell phone on a rickety, uneven nightstand while sitting on her bed. Her mother's words played over and over in the back of her head.

"_I'll get you back, I promise. One more year and you'll be back home."_

Layla fell back on her new pillows, the image of her father's new attorney swirling around in her head.

Yeah. Right.

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It wasn't long before Layla made her way to the cheap looking TV set her father had been watching earlier. There was a mixture of old and new looking duck tape strips keeping the antennas at just the right angles. Half daydreaming, Layla slowly searched the combined kitchen and living room until she found what she was looking for, the remote control. It occurred to her many times during this search that she could just walk over to turn the TV on, but that would be no fun, would it? Soon she was on the comfortably worn in couch, with a TV special on. It was a strange one, a horror film on vampires.

Layla sat ridged in her seat, leaning forward, devouring it all in. Her insides clashed with wanting to turn the channel away from the awful program every time a lifeless body was cast aside, drained of its' blood, and a desperate need to watch more. Relief washed over Layla when the credits began to roll, but that emotion was soon replaced with a new fear. She didn't even notice half the channels she began to flip through, her eyes were darting all around the room. Every shadow was a monster, and hidden behind every flicker of the light danced a vampire, hungry, lurking. A sudden crash alerted her, the sound of a body falling and blood spilling. Layla froze, then realized with a surge of relief that the body was merely her Coca Cola can, and the blood was the soda spilling, spreading all over the carpet.

Layla sighed and got up to go find a towel, napkin, anything. She needed to get her mind off of the stupid movie she watched. It wasn't smart of her to watch a horror flick, she always felt sorry for the victims and after the movie would become terrified that she'd be next.

"The damn villain even died!" she scolded herself,"There are no vampires, I'm just a freakin' girl stuck in this _town_ with my dad. End of story, goodbye, **the end**."

She couldn't help but notice the irony. She had viewed the movie to distract herself from her current situation, and now she was trying to distract herself from the movie by reminding herself of her predicament.

Then the distraction came, keeping her from both her nightmares. Shouts, screams, and fired shots filled Layla's ears. It sounded like they were coming from the outside, near the window at the end of the hall. Layla stood where she was, and closed her eyes for a moment. The sounds seemed to be growing louder and more intense What was happening?!

Layla made her way to the lone window, rushing her steps. Goosebumps rose all over her body when she realized that the evil sound of screams had disappeared. Her imagination flew wild when Layla opened the window, running with the breeze. She imagined the person that caused those screams running up the playground like steps towards her dad's apartment, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. But as she peeked her head out the window, she only found humans.

A silver Porsche skidded away, leaving two police cars behind. Orders were being shouted, a man and a woman were screaming on their radios. But Layla didn't hear any of this. It was as if the world had gone quiet, and nothing mattered anymore. A young man, with hair teased to perfection and covered with the clothes of a punk was rushing into the passenger seat of a police car. He was shouting at someone, facing the driver's seat. Still, he seemed to be the only calm one amidst the panicked frenzy. Then he was gone. Following the sound of fired engines and the screech of tires, the cars drove away, leaving no man behind.

Layla stood where she was, and caught her breath.


	2. Teenage Rebellion

_**A/N-**** Sorry it's been awhile. I tend to do that. I hope this lives up to the first chapter, I think it does in a different type of way. Let me know with a review, dudes.**_

Dandelions were everywhere, floating softly up into an abyss of sky blue. They were all around me, the closest near the bottom of my shirt. They were a pure white, making the other colors surrounding me and the hillside even more rich. There was no wind, but the weeds continued to fly, higher and higher into the deep, never ending sky. But, instead of looking up at them, my eyes traveled downward, to my bare feet. The warm, dewy grass clung to them, and I felt as if the blades were washing away my troubles. The sunlight poured from different directions throughout the heavens, and the heat made me feel alive instead of tired.

After realizing this, a spurt of excitement ran through me, and I lifted my eyes to the rising dandelions in the sky and began twirling around. It reminded me of The Sound of Music, only much, much better. Song seemed to burst from every piece of nature that surrounded me. All the trees and their roots seemed to join in song, the clouds hummed a tune, and even the dandelions began to dance as they made their way up, and up, and up.

Now my head was tilted upwards towards the sky, and as I twirled, the colorless dandelions seemed to mush together into the mass of blue. I felt as if I was at the foot of the vault of Heaven, and my sole purpose was to wait until the Great Gate opened. Not a worry in the world could stop me as I span, faster and faster. Inevitably, I soon became dizzy and tripped on my own two feet. But there was no pain after my clumsy landing on the lush grass, and I laughed as I realized the dandelion that began at the bottom of my shirt was now above my head. Normally I would have felt ditsy, but here in this world I was as free as a butterfly, soaring above the highest cliff on the most peaceful beach.

I laughed again at this beautiful thought, and reached out to grab the dandelion, slowly making its' way out of my reach. It was a pity I hadn't noticed all the other dandelions were gone, and that this one was losing its' seeds to an invisible wind...

A shadow fell over me, causing fear to reach the very corners of my heart. A white fist clamped over the lone dandelion and smashed it to pieces. I watched the hand in horror, and skirted my eyes with caution down the expensive suit. My breathing quickened and my eyesight blurred as I took in the broad shoulders, and finally, the face. It was a lawyer's face, _the _lawyer's face. My breathing stopped.

This time I hadn't caught my breath, I lost it.

* * *

"Hey kid, wake up will you! I'm not letting you ditch school on your first day."

Layla Bridget's eyelids flew open, and held their place at the tops of her hazel eyes. Involuntary tears were spilling down her unwashed skin, and her alarm clock's buzzing finally made its' way into her head.

"Wha-what time is it?" she mumbled as she turned over to check the vibrating clock.

Dashed red letters revealed how late she was before her father spoke the words.

"Six-thirty! You got to leave for the bus around seven. It's like a twenty minute walk or so. It's pretty cold out there, so I hope you packed a jacket."

Layla tried to make sense of this in her dreamlike state. Six-thirty? That meant she had to squash an hour long morning ritual into thirty minutes.

With the alarm still going, the clock changed.

She heaved a sigh,"And counting."

Thirty minutes later Layla was trying to make her way to the door. Her hair was wet, her eyes were burning, and she was getting ready to curse her dad for living in such a mess before another thought occurred to her. She turned to her father sitting in his favorite spot, the couch, and yelled out in a rage.

"Why the hell am I rushing to take the bus to school when you can just drive me? It'd give me more time, to actually _dry_ my hair!"

Mr. Bridget's head bolted to Layla's face, a shot of anger in his eyes.

"Now don't curse at me missy, alright!" his words began in a shout, and then took a menacingly quiet turn,"Some bastard stole my car when I went out last night, I took the public bus home. It's the same one you're goin' to ride today. It's perfectly safe."

Layla stood where she was, paralyzed for a moment. Then, with careful, quiet steps, she made her way to the door. She relieved the door of its' locks and turned the knob.

After the door opened a crack, she whispered,"Sorry."

Her only reply was the satellite TV, telling her to "Click it or ticket" as she closed the door and left the apartment.

Layla immediately rushed to the steps that would lead her downward, into the black hole of apartments that shadowed the sunny day. Layla followed these as quickly as possible, trying to escape her father and every apartment nearby. It felt as if everyone had heard the conversation she was leaving behind, and embarrassment flooded her cheeks, complementing the fear in her eyes. Would she and her father actually get along? She was pretty sure she was stuck with him, and a heavy dread seemed to break through the bottom of her heart like a massive weight. There was only a small dash of hope in her mind that her mother would actually win the next case, or any trial after that. Only a small, glowing light was what kept her from falling into complete darkness, from losing all faith in her mother.

Reflected sunlight attacked her already sore eyes as Layla stepped onto the sidewalk that tagged alongside the street. A little bit of warmth filled Layla's body as she reminded herself of why her eyes were such a wreck. She had been daydreaming in the shower about the strange, brave boy she had seen the previous night. Or was it a man? Layla was fairly sure he was her age, but why was he involved with those cops?

Those were just the questions that were running through her mind before a handful of shampoo had streamed down from the top of her skull and into her eyes. A waterfall of chemicals wasn't too soothing, and Layla was reminded once again of why her mother had only bought her No More Tears hair products for the longest time.

All these memories ran through Layla's head within a few seconds. She had stopped at the corner, where her apartments disappeared and a new intersection began, every road leading her through a sea of unfamiliar buildings and houses.

By now the all important question had come to her, the one that would change her course of life, forever. She could have gone back and asked her dad exactly _where_ the bus stop was, but she was too afraid of what she might find when she went back. Besides, it was about time she blazed her own trail, instead of being controlled by others.

A car honked as it breezed by Layla, leaving clear smoke behind, adding to the strange mixture of smells that is Brooklyn. A rush of various other vehicles buried the smoke into the street before it could get anywhere near her, but the air still felt dirtier than it was before. By now Layla was at a streetlight with a decision firm in her mind, and it drove away any sense of doubt or reason. A bad feeling tried to gnaw away at her, but one thought of her dad yelling at her brushed away the temptation to go back. She was free now.

A man frozen in place flashed green from across the street. He was enclosed in a tiny black square sign, the symbol that showed whether it was wise to cross the street or not.

"_Your own personal servant to look both ways for you," _Layla thought, and a strangely familiar burst of excitement ran through her.

She practically skipped a few steps of freedom across the street, the adventure of finding her own way to her school chasing away the knowledge that she would most likely become lost and never make it there. She was a girl trying to be a teenager, because she had read and heard that she was supposed to be doing things like this. She was supposed to be brave and have a little fun.

"To live a little," she sighed, and closed her eyes for a second.

That's when a deathtrap of chipping paint and metal smashed into Layla, knocking more than her thoughts away.


End file.
